


Out the Back of Your Collision

by fratboyryan



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Demon!Shane, M/M, Nephilim!Ryan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-24 14:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16641942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fratboyryan/pseuds/fratboyryan
Summary: Things have been pretty weird since the Schism, but Shane's dealing, now that Ryan's awake from his coma. They've gotten used to Shane's new horns and Ryan's four sets of eyes. Everything's getting back to normal, finally. When Sara foists a case of a strange serial killer onto them, the truth of the events that put Ryan into a coma starts to test their friendship...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm new to this fandom so please be gentle <3 I'm excited to start writing this fic since I love these boys so much, and I hope you like it. The title is from "Party at the end of the world" by MCR.
> 
> Just FYI, this is for fun and everything is fictional. If your name is in this fic, just don't read it dude.

Los Angeles really is hell. It's hot, like hell. It's crowded, like hell. It's full of mundane tortures that are bad enough to grate without being terrible enough to drive one to insanity. Everyone who lives here hates it, but yet none of them seem to muster up enough courage to leave. Shane feels right at home. 

 

Shane's been craving cheesecake all afternoon. He doesn’t know why he thought of it, but now he has, he can’t stop. There’s something about the creaminess of it that seems perfect for the warm day, especially when he’s been stuck in the back sorting through cold cases and solved ones. The A/C has been blowing out warm air for the past few weeks, but no one’s gonna fix it on account of the office demon. 

 

There's a cheesecake place across the street from the precinct, but getting there requires the ability to cross the street. You don't cross the street in LA, you're born and you will die on the same side of the road. Shane could more easily get his dick pierced than a cheesecake, because it's LA and there's two places nearby the precinct that specialize in genital piercing. 

 

Shane isn't allowed to get Postmates to the precinct, not after he Postmated demon food by accident and it spent an hour corroding slowly through the bag and into Sgt. Lim's desk. He's doomed to a lifetime of not eating cheesecake because of past follies, and he only has himself to blame. 

 

Once upon a time, his partner would have stood up for his demonic tendencies (hopefully), but that partner isn't here now, and Shane gets the delightful role of eternal desk jockey, banished to the corner of the bullpen that hasn't been naturally lit in years. Shane gets stacks of papers, cold cases that will never be solved, and a craving for cheesecake. 

 

Shane will die on this side of the street, craving cheesecake. 

 

Sara slams a pile of files on the table, breaking Shane out of his reverie. She does this often enough, the only one of their department who trusts his skills enough to seriously take him on as a profiler. Plus, she's the one in charge of a high profile possible serial killer case, and she needs all the help she can get. 

 

“New murder?” Shane asks, interest a little piqued. She looks stressed, to say the least, flyaway hairs trembling with stress as she fixes him with a glare. 

“New murder,” she agrees, and pushes him over to sit down, opening one of the files to read through.

 

Shane’s tail twitches in excitement. He knows he shouldn’t be intrigued by this, but he is anyway. The negative vibes from a violent murder scene can sometimes feed him for a week, and this sicko that Sara’s chasing down really serves Shane up a tasty little bite. 

 

Shane’s stomach growls with anticipation, and Sara rolls her eyes. “This is why people at the office hate working with you, you know.” 

“Are you being racist, Sara? Do I need to file a complaint with HR?” 

“Oh no, the big bad demon is going to get back at me through several inconclusive HR forms, whatever shall I do?” 

“I’ll have you know, bureaucracy is what we demons do best, for your information! We just sit in rows marking condemned souls’ applications incomplete! It’s a national pastime.” 

* * *

The murder site is grislier than expected. The last two murders had been almost civil, no sign of struggle, no drugs in their systems, just a clean stab wound and no fingerprints. The victims were all in their pyjamas and tucked into bed, even if the actual scene of the crime was elsewhere. 

 

Here, there’s brain matter all over the vic’s bed. The guy was about 6’3, weighed maybe 200 pounds, slept in sweatpants and an old band shirt. White, human, obviously a bachelor since his bedside table their was full of dirty plates, old beer bottles, and candy bar wrappers. His apartment was a mess before he got murked, and it’s not looking any better after someone took an axe to his head. 

 

Before the Schism, before everything got fucked sideways, Shane’s file read ‘empath’, not ‘demon’. He was a lead profiler, able to read the last emotions from the room just by being there. Pre-Schism, his powers were a lot weaker, and all he ever got were vague hazes of emotions, like walking on the opposite side of the street from a KFC. Now he’s got his face in the deep fat fryers and it’s spitting oil at him. 

 

Shane takes everything in: the bloodstains soaking into the mattress, the empty Pringles cans on the half of the double bed the vic didn’t sleep on, his phone plugged in and still charging, the dirty laundry littering the floor. The murder is a few days old, and starting to stink. He was lucky his manager thought it was strange he didn’t come in and actually called the cops, otherwise no one may have known he’d died for months. Shane’s unfortunately familiar with the death of anti-social beings like this guy. They’re easy pickings for the opportunistic serial killer. 

 

“What do you think, Madej?” Sara looks up at him, and the complete faith she has in his assessment is a little overwhelming. That kind of trust is hard for him to come by, post-Schism, and he always notices it when it’s there. 

 

He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes and taking in the emotion as it washes over him. It’s strange. The last two murders done by this guy weren’t like this, and Shane wonders if it’s just because the scent is old that the emotions swirling around the room smell off. 

 

“There’s just… It’s calm. He wasn’t scared when he died. The axe didn’t kill him right away, so he should have panicked at least a little bit. There’s just nothing there.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. When he died, he was at peace.”

 

It doesn’t feel right. The axe had probably gone into his head three or four times, shattering his skull and tearing apart his face until it was so badly mutilated they’ll probably need to do dental records to double check the ID. People aren’t chill when they’re murdered like that, they don’t just lie down in beds and let it happen. 

 

“Look, maybe it’s because the scene is old -” Shane starts, but Sara interrupts him. 

“I trust you. I think it makes sense - there’s no other signs of struggle. This murder took place in the victim’s bed, and the bed isn’t messed up. If the perp had rearranged the sheets, the splattering would have been shifted, see? There’s no fight. You think if someone hit you in the head with an axe, you’d wake up and try to do  _ something.  _ Maybe he was drugged.” 

Shane doesn’t think he was drugged. “Yeah, maybe. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy, I guess.”

 

Sara goes off to inspect the scene further and make sure there are photos of the splatters, and Shane stays behind to absorb the atmosphere. As more cops and cleanup crews come onto the scene, the emotional residue vanishes, and with that, any hope of finding the killer through vibes alone leaves. He tries not to feel bitter, it’s unlikely he wouldn’t have been able to do anything more than he already has, but he doesn’t want to feel that way. He wants to be helpful. 

 

They’re relegating him to the apartment hallway when he gets a call from TJ, one of the cops he’s gotten closer with, post Schism. He’s a satyr, and they’ve bonded a bit over being hairy, having horns, and not being able to get through pre-Schism hallways. 

 

“Hey Teej, what’s up?” Shane answers the call, expecting TJ to tell him to get back into the office and do his own work for once. 

Instead, TJ says: “They found Ryan.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“They found Ryan. He’s in a coma right now. I’ll text you the hospital he’s going to, we’ll meet you there.” 

“Don’t fuck with me, TJ. You can’t joke about these things.”

“I’m not joking. I know it’s unbelievable, but you have to believe it. He’s alive, Shane. You didn’t kill him.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan's back on the force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the chapters are so short! I'm trying to do a thing where I write quick chapters and update frequently, rather than push myself to write longer chapters that I lose inspiration for. Hope you like this! (Also, Kelsey is the captain because she's in control ;)

Ryan’s two main eyes stare at him, unblinking. It’s a little freaky, how nothing else about him has changed other than the three sets of new eyes framing his main ones, how they all look different directions and never seem to close. Maybe Shane’s being demon-centric, whatever. He’s not used to Ryan looking like that. He’s not sure if he’ll ever be. 

 

Of course Shane knew that Ryan had angel blood in him pre-Schism. Everyone knew, it’s not like angel blood is hard to smell out, and one has to declare their species in order to be on the force. Ryan was always mostly magyk-dead though: apart from his vague sense of the other planes, he was pretty much an average human who was a little bit more predispositioned to good than most. 

 

“Do the horns hurt?” Ryan asks, finally. 

 

Shane had been waiting for it, the conversation where they’re like ‘so you’re a demon now!’ and Shane has to go ‘I’ve always been a demon, I lied to get onto the force because who would hire a demon to do police work, and after you disappeared I got court-martialed because my horns grew in’ and everyone took notice when he grew foot-long horns out his forehead. He probably could have hidden the extra leg hair, tail, and forked tongue. In a pinch, the claw-like fingers and fanged teeth could have gone away. It’s hard to hide burnished red horns that jut half a foot out from his forehead, straight into the air, and then make an abrupt 90 degree turn to curve another six inches upwards. It’s not the kind of thing you can just put a hat on and hide. 

 

Shane sighs, and swivels to face Ryan. “Okay. Let’s just do the whole you’re a demon! thing now so we can get over with it. Ask me whatever you want.” 

“Do the horns hurt?”

“Like, in general? Every day?” 

“When they came in?”

“I was born with horns, Ryan. It was just that pre-Schism, my connection to my home plane was tenuous enough that I could pass as human.”

“Oh. Can you feel stuff with them?” 

“They’re not feelers, I think it’s more like a sign of virility. Or something. There’s nerves in the base of them, I guess, like teeth. I can feel a little bit, but it’s not skin or whatever.”

“Virility?” 

Shane shrugs. “I don’t really think about it like that.”

“Do you guys have horn measuring competitions?”

Shane can’t meet Ryan’s eyes when he answers. It feels so childish. “Not in so many words…” 

 

Ryan fucking crows with laughter, lying back in his ergonomic chair and wheezing at the ceiling. A couple people stopped to look at why he was laughing so hard, a puzzled look on their faces. 

 

“It’s really not that funny.”

“Oh, it kind of is.” 

“I don’t know why you’re laughing so hard.” 

“I’m just imagining a group of demons going around, trying to stand tall next to each other and measure whose fucking horns are the biggest. Aren’t you guys meant to be like the scariest beings in all the land, or whatever?”

“Aren’t you meant to be nice, or whatever, Bergara?” 

“Are your horns considered big or small?” 

“I’m not answering that.”

“Come on, you told me to ask whatever!”

“I never agreed to answer them.” 

“ _Shane_ ,” Ryan whines, and to be honest, Shane’s always ended up giving in when Ryan looks at him like that. 

“I never considered horn-enhancing pills, if that’s what you want to know.” 

“There are horn-enhancing pills?”

“What do you think?”

“You can’t do this to me, man. You can’t just drop a bomb like horn-enhancing pills exist and not expect me to be up all night bugging you for answers!”

“We’re done! This is done. Question time is over, good night young sir, don’t forget to buy a poster on your way out of the auditorium.” 

“Shane! Come on, you can’t do that!”   
“I can,” he sniffs, “and I will. I don’t have to sit here and listen to you make fun of my culture like this.” 

To emphasise his point, Shane turns back to face his work, diving into a file and pointedly ignore Ryan’s pleas for reconsideration. 

* * *

“Unfortunately,” Captain Impicciche tells them, “I cannot think of a good reason to have you not on active duty. So, against what some may think is better judgement, you’ll be returning to active duty tomorrow.”   
“Wait,” Ryan says, and Shane knew this was coming, “what do you mean against your better judgement? What’s wrong with us?”

“Ryan,” Kelsey sighs, “you’re two months out of being missing for years - years that you don’t remember - and then a long period of being comatose. It’s only due to your angelic magyks that you’re not still in rehab. We don’t even fully understand your angelic magyk. Not to mention everything HR keeps making me read about having an angel and a demon on the same team.”   
“We’re best friends, it’s not like we hate each other or anything!”   
“You’re best friends with a history of arguing, a three year gap in your friendship, and a lot more magyk in the mix. If something between you two goes wrong, it’s going to go very wrong.”

Ryan looks to Shane, and Shane knows he's asking him to help fight Kelsey on this. Ryan wants his help in assuring Kelsey they're perfectly fine, that nothing will go wrong, and they'll be back to normal in no time. The small issue with that is that Shane doesn't think he can look Ryan in his additional eyes and totally agree. 

 

He shrugs, “she has a point, Ryan. Maybe -”

“No.”

“I have nothing against you or Shane, it's just -” Kelsey tries, but Shane knows when Ryan's made up his mind, it's over. 

“Just so you know, this is bigotry, and I'm going to prove you wrong. So you can take your anti-demon prejudice and shove it up your ass.”

“Bergara!” their captain barks, but it's too late. Ryan's already stormed out of the office. 

 

“I'm sorry,” Shane starts, and Kelsey rubs at her temples. 

“No, I'm sorry. I should have phrased that better. I don't mean to sound bigoted, it's just that-”

“Don't worry. To be honest, I agree with you. It's not like Bergara was very pro-demon before. There was a reason he was never rostered with Traeger.”

“I just worry it's too soon, for you both. You're great detectives, and I trust your work. Just, as a friend? You've both been through some traumatic things since the Schism. I don't want to push you into something you're not ready for.”

“I know. I appreciate it.” 

 

She sighs, and pushes their guns and badges towards Shane. “I trust you to take Bergara's to him. You're assisting Yang and Habersberger while on probation, starting Monday. Please prove my worries wrong.”

“I'll certainly try.”

* * *

From the break room, Shane can see Ryan acting out more of his little tantrum at his desk. He’s been throwing files around all afternoon and typing with ten times the force he needs to, and the constant noise is driving Shane nuts. The haptic sounds already don’t feel good to his extremely sensitive ears, but Ryan’s taking this vendetta out exclusively on Shane’s ear drums, and it’s making his tail curl. 

 

More coffee was always a good reason to get away. Ryan didn’t question it. Shane’ll even bring him back a cup, as long as he’s stopped clacking by the time Shane’s ready to get back. 

 

“Still acting weird?” Sara sidles up to him, leaning against the counter next to Shane with her own mug of brew.   
“Fuck, I don’t know. Am I being unfair? He just seems so  _ angry  _ these days.”

“Maybe a little. Wouldn’t you be angry if you had a couple years missing from your memory?”   
“I… guess. I don’t know. I’m a demon! We’re always a little bit angry. It’s a product of being borne from hellfire and all that jazz, like poof! You exist now, and also you’re in a state of unchangeable rage! Congrats on your birthday, kiddo!”

Sara makes a face that says  _ you’re being dramatic, Shane _ . “Still sounds better than human high school.” 

“I  _ went  _ to human high school.”

“Am I wrong?”

 

Shane waves his arms around in a dramatic shrug, spilling hot coffee on the cuff of his shirt. “Ow! Fuck!”   
“Not so tough now, Mr. Hellfire, are you?”

“Oh, shut up. I don’t need to deal with this.”    
She winks and sticks her tongue out at him, “c’mon. You love me. You love me  _ so much  _ you’re definitely coming clubbing tonight.”

“Yes,” he replies drily, “I love you with all my heart. I love you so much that I won’t subject you to my horrible dancing. You’re welcome.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer! You’ve got to! Garrett, Eugene, Annie, and Kate are coming, so you’ve got to.”   
“I’ve got to?”

 

Shane watches Ryan slam his enter key four times with an unnecessary amount of force. 

 

“You’ve got to, because you love me forever and ever.”

“Fine.  _ Only  _ because I love you forever and ever.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;) my tumblr is @fratboyryan and I love talking about my fics.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. Sorry these are only a couple scenes long at a time, I really just wanna focus on writing fast and updating quickly, otherwise I get bogged down with worrying.

So, maybe Shane came in late on Monday morning. Maybe he was up all night watching dumb Netflix shows because he couldn’t (didn’t want to) sleep, and then fell asleep at five AM to only get a couple hours of bad sleep, y’know, like an idiot. Of course he was late to work, and he came breezing in ten minutes late with a Coke and a pop tart. He’s barely alive, okay? Can you blame a guy? 

 

If it wasn’t for the stink of distaste that hit his senses the second he walked in, he wouldn’t have even noticed Sara and Kate giving him the stink eye from their desks by the door of the bullpen. He waves at her, and she ignores him, at first. Halfway to turning back to her desk, she abruptly gets up and stalks over to him, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him into a corner. 

 

“How could you?” she demands, her curls bobbing around her face as she looks up to him. Her anger is pointed, with notes of disgust and betrayal rounding out the flavour. It’s like a smooth scotch, and it does more to fill Shane up than the pop tart ever could. He probably should feel bad for feeding on his friend’s bad mood, but he doesn’t really feel too cut up about it. It’s a little hard to stop, after all. Besides, it’s not like she’s using it.   
“How could I what?”    
“You  _ stole  _ my case, Shane. What the hell? That was  _ my  _ serial killer.”

“I didn’t steal your case, Sara… All I did was put in my report and recommendations for the profiler, like you told me to!”   
“Yeah, and then the cap  _ gave it  _ to you! Thanks  _ so  _ much, you dick.”   
“I’m not a dick, you’re a dick! I didn’t do anything to your stupid case.”   
“Don’t just play the fool, Madej. You know what you did.”

 

She stalks off before Shane can get a word in edgewise, and he’s left feeling like he’s out of the loop. Did he really miss that much, being ten minutes late to work? Clearly, he has a lot to catch up on. 

 

Making his way over to his desk, the first thing he notices is the warm glow eminating from Ryan. Ryan’s excitement doesn’t radiate so far from his seat, but when Shane sits down next to him, all he can smell is a hit of freshly baked cookies. It nearly drowns out the scotch-scent of Sara’s annoyance and the varying other moods from around the room.

 

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Shane asks, leaning back in his chair and swivelling to face Ryan.    
“Hey, Shane! Guess what?”   
“Ooh, a guessing game. Let me see, is your name Rumpelstiltskin?”

Ryan rolls his eyes. It’s weird seeing all eight of them move in unison, whirling around his head. “Come on, be serious.”   
“You’ve decided to stop believing in ghosts, like a normal person.”

“The irony of a demon telling me this never ceases to astound me.”

“They’re not real, and you know it, Ryan.”   
“Fuck you. Any way, please guess seriously!”   
“I don’t know why you’re making me play a guessing game.”

“Fine! Kelsey gave us the case!”   
“ _ The  _ case?” Shane suddenly understands what Sara was going on about. “Which case, Ryan?”   
“The serial killer case! She said she was sorry about what she said on Friday. She didn’t mean to be anti-demon before. You’re a good profiler.”   
“That’s weird,” he frowns. It doesn’t seem right, that she’d change her entire stance over the weekend. Giving them a serial killer case is pretty much the opposite of not pushing.    
“What’s weird? That she regrets being fucking racist?”   
“I’m a middle class white guy,” Shane deadpans, “I think I’ll survive.”   
“Whatever. You shouldn’t let people just walk over you like that.”    
“Don’t worry about it, Ryan. It really doesn’t matter, I’m used to it.”   
“You shouldn’t be  _ used  _ to it! It’s not fair! You’re a good cop and a great dude. People only treat you like this because they know you’re a demon, and it shouldn’t be like that!”   
“Ryan, hey,” Shane hushes him, grabbing Ryan’s flailing hand and holding it in his clawed hand. “I promise you, if I think someone is taking advantage of me, I’ll stand up for myself. Okay?”   
“Fine.” 

 

He doesn’t look happy about it, but Shane doesn’t know what else to say. Most of the stereotypes about demons are right. Shane’s lucky they still let him serve on the force, and if he was in Kelsey’s position, he’d be a lot more severe. She’s still a new captain, and she’s just trying to solve crimes, like everyone else. A demon’s not exactly the best publicity for her precinct, or the LAPD. Shane’s grateful for everything she’s done for him, but he can’t express to Ryan all the fighting they did to allow Shane to stay on the force, without bringing up Ryan’s disappearance. 

 

He’s still not ready to talk about it.

 

“So. What do you think about the case, Bergara?”    
“I think you’re the one who’s actually been on the crime scene. Why don’t you tell me what  _ you  _ think.”    
“Well, you’ve read the reports, right? I was at the scene for the third and fourth bodies. That’s when we started building the serial killer profile. All the victims were found in their beds, with no signs of struggle. Otherwise, they’ve all been killed in different ways, almost like the killer is experimenting with something. They all seem to be shut-ins, computer geeks who work from home. Heavy gamers. No sign of forced entry, or any kind of sex or coercion.”   
“What do  _ you  _ think?”   
“Just sort of going from the scenes I’ve been to, at least, I thought it was strange there wasn’t any fear. The victims, even the guy who was killed with an axe to the head, were all totally calm at the time of death.”   
“Is it really that strange, though?” Ryan asks, and Shane’s already doubting his own words, “I mean, they were in their beds. Maybe they were sleeping, or had accepted the inevitability of death. I don’t know if  _ emotions  _ are a big enough lead to chase, dude.”   
“Yeah,” Shane mumbles, finding himself agree with Ryan on it, “I think you’re probably right. We should focus on the DNA evidence and any connections between the victims.” 

* * *

Ryan’s staring at him. Shane can feel his eyes tracking Shane over their burritos, and he fights the impulse to go  _ what?  _ He’s not going to be weird about Ryan again, not when he just got him back. He can be normal, and normal involves pretending the last couple years didn’t happen. 

 

“So. The hooves.”   
“Not this again,” Shane shakes his head, refusing to engage. He agreed to get dinner after work with Ryan, because he thought it wasn’t going to be weird. He shucked his work shoes in the car because he thought it wouldn’t be a big deal. Ryan’s the one making it weird.   
“Come  _ on,  _ man! What is it, after you clock out you just  _ grow hooves?  _ I think my best friend having hooves is something to talk about. It’s something I should know.”

“I am not talking about my hooves with you! There’s nothing to talk about! I have furry legs, you know this!”   
“You  _ love  _ me,” Ryan whines, and yeah, Shane does. Shane can’t help but look into his warm eyes and feel a swell of fondness for Ryan. Ryan’s his best friend, and he’s so  _ magnetic.  _ Ryan’s charms are effortless and endearing, and Shane isn’t a very strong man. He’s never been one to lie to himself, even if he lies to everyone else. He’s man enough to admit that these past two months have been enough to remind him that he’s in love with Ryan.    
“I also love my privacy, Ryan. They’re literally just hooves.”    
“Just a few questions, then I’m done. For real. No more demon questions again.”    
“You promise?” Shane asks, putting his burrito down and offering his pinky claw.   
“Seriously? A pinky promise? What are we, twelve?”   
“Yes. Now promise, Bergara, or you’re getting nothing out of me.”    
“Fine,” Ryan takes his pinky and gives it two firm shakes, “there.”   
“It’s more comfortable to have my hooves out, but it’s easier for regulation and noise to wear shoes at work.”   
“Oh. That’s not very exciting.”   
“They’re hooves, Ryan. It’s like asking you why you like to wear Jordans. You just like ‘em. It feels good.”

“I think Jordans and  _ hooves  _ are slightly different.”   
“Yeah. My hooves don’t cost hundreds of dollars.”

 

Ryan sputters and wheezes, laughing so hard a he spits a bit of bean onto the table. It’s not that funny, but Ryan’s laughter makes Shane fall into giggles anyway. His chest lights up with mirth and he’s  _ happy,  _ he loves being with Ryan. Ryan’s head is thrown back, his chin pointing to the ceiling like an arrow. Shane wants to reach over the table and kiss him, he wants to cradle Ryan’s face in his hands and make him feel safe. He wants to keep Ryan by his side forever. 

 

Shane wants so much that he won’t allow himself to take. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://fratboyryan.tumblr.com/).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The victims are less innocent than Shane thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a brief warning for mentions of pedophilia and abuse in this chapter! It's pretty slight mention, and nothing graphic.

Freddie’s not happy. Shane doesn’t have to be a demon to tell that this case is bringing everyone down, especially the fact that there a no leads and no real suspects. He doesn’t know specifically why she’s not happy, but looking at the files in her hands, he’s going to be shown real soon. 

 

“Is Bergara here as well?” she asks, not even a hello to start them off with. Cool. So that’s how this is going to go.   
“Nah, he’s caught up in the lab, they’re hoping to find some kind of DNA evidence. What’s up?”   
“Well, I was hoping to catch the two of you, but this is fine. You’re going to want to take a look at this,” she puts the files down and opens them up to the page where she’s placed the sticky tab. “It puts the killings in a new light.”

 

Freddie’s been working on going through the victim’s computers. Shane thought maybe they had a connection through some sort of website or game, considering they were all known to be shut-ins with an internet addiction. Other than being white, that was their only real connection. It makes more sense than the attacks being totally random, at least. 

 

Freddie’s file makes more sense. Shane reads the page that was highlighted, and then flips through the rest of the file before he speaks.

 

“They’re all sex offenders?” he asks, and Freddie shrugs. “Christ.”   
“I wrote about it there, and it’s just three of them. But yeah, two of them had child pornography on their computers, and the third published revenge pornography of an ex girlfriend. We don’t have anything on the other two victims, but maybe this is a vigilante action? I don’t really know anything more about it, but we’ll go through digital evidence again to let you know.”   
“Thanks Freddie, yeah. It could, it could be some sort of vigilante thing. We should probably pursue maybe a character witness angle? Yeah. Let me know if you find anything else, would you?”    
“Of course,” she says, and leaves him with a thick report of her findings. 

 

He turns the page, picks up his coffee mug with his tail, takes a long sip, and starts reading. 

 

* * *

 

The good news is that they’re still only on five bodies. The bad news is that’s five bodies, no new leads, and the worrying suspicion Shane has that there’s been a killing no one has called in yet. It’s making Shane stress vape. 

 

Not even tutti frutti vape juice is making Shane feel better about his lack of progress. 

 

“Are you vaping?” Ryan asks, closing the door to the back entrance behind him, “are you seriously vaping in an alleyway?”   
“I’m allowed a smoke break,” Shane protests.   
“I can’t believe you’re vaping. Is this where you disappear to? When did you fucking pick up vaping?”   
“It’s tutti frutti,” Shane says, and takes another drag.   
“Jesus Christ, man,” Ryan swears, standing a couple feet downwind of Shane, “I’ve never seen you this stressed out before.”   
“I’m trying to quit smoking.”   
“At least smoking looks  _ hot.  _ You just look like a douche. FYI.”   
“I’m well aware I look like a douche,” Shane says, and busies himself in his vape again. Not like anyone wants to be told they look like a douche by the guy they’re slightly in love a little bit with.   
“What’s up with you, man?”   
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the ongoing serial killer case I’m dealing with that has no leads and no suspects attached? It’s gonna go to cold cases soon, if there isn’t some sort of break, and that sucks.”    
“It won’t go to cold cases,” Ryan tells him, like he’s  _ promising  _ something will happen, “don’t worry about that. We’ll catch whoever it is.”    
“Who fucking does serial killing nowadays, anyway? Serial killers are so CSI! Why can’t it just be a cut and dry mass shooting case, like all the other psychos in America!”    
“Are you promoting gun violence?”   
“No,” Shane sneers, “I just wish he would fucking kill himself already.”   
“You don’t mean that,” Ryan says, a hard edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. 

Shane stubbornly takes a hit from his vape, and then shrugs. “Yeah, fine, I don’t mean it. It’s shit that we’re in this position.”   
“Of course it’s shitty, we’re cops and dealing with a serial killer. It’s also our  _ job,  _ you can’t let it get to you.”   
“Innocent people are dying, Ryan. It’s not fair.”   
“Well,” Ryan smiles, “not exactly innocent.”   
“How’d you know about that?”   
“Oh, Freddie caught me when I got out of the lab. Kiddie porn, huh?”    
“Still. Vigilante justice isn’t the way to go. We can’t just give the okay for some vigilante to kill whoever he likes, just because he’s got a way to track down sex offenders that we don’t. Besides, the death penalty is unconstitutional in California.”   
“Huh. Didn’t think demons were such sticklers for the rules.”   
“Thanks, Ryan. So glad your anti-racism policy is only enforced when trying to harass our boss.”   
“Shut up,” Ryan rolls his eyes and opens the back door again, “and stop vaping!”

 

* * *

 

It seems stupidly fortuitous. The next vic is discovered only a few days after Shane starts getting worried about a lack of action. A maid in a hotel stumbles in on a dead guest, somebody strangled to death with his own belt. There’s a folder by his body, this time. A signed confession saying that the guy abused his wife and kids. 

 

The entire time Shane’s in the hotel room, he wonders if this is even a case he should be investigating. Eugene doesn’t think it’s Shane’s case, that maybe the dude just killed himself. The belt could be a red herring. 

 

Shane doesn’t know what to do with that. They go through the allegations the guy apparently made against himself, they talk to the wife, all that. Roger Mcladden was a bad guy. His wife cries when they tell her that he’s dead, and it seems to be both out of grief and relief. She thanks them for telling her, she talks about how he threatened to kill her, she smiles when she realises he’s never going to come home again. 

 

The body stares at him from the cold morgue slab, and Shane doesn’t know what to do with it. 

 

“With God’s grace, I remove myself from this life,” he mumbles, wishing Mcladden’s ghost would emerge from his corpse, and explain how he died. It’s a weird phrase.   
“Okay, Gerard, don’t try and slit your wrists,” Keith jokes, poking Shane in the side.    
“Ow,” Shane says, his tail wrapping around Keith’s wrist and holding it in place.

 

The corpse doesn’t say anything.

  
“There was no emotion in that room, Keith.”   
“What?”   
“In the hotel room. There was the shock from the maid, and normal morning grumpiness, but there was absolutely no emotion in that room that should have been there when he died. He should have felt  _ something  _ when he died: no one writes a fucking suicide note like that without feeling  _ anything. _ ”    
“Maybe he was like, filled with contentment or something.”   
“I can  _ smell  _ contentment. I can’t describe it. There was just nothing there, where his  _ dying emotions  _ should have been. You can’t strangle yourself to death without feeling a little bit of fear, right at the end. You can’t die by strangulation, feeling absolutely nothing. It’s a terrible way to die! No one’s like, whoopee, let me just  _ choke myself to death in this bed,  _ that’s fun!”   
“You’ve never seen a case of autoerotic strangulation, huh?”   
“Oh, fuck off. It wasn’t like that, the belt was in his hands. Like, if he’d passed out, he wouldn’t have died, because obviously he wasn’t able to strangle himself while passed out. If he wasn’t able to get the belt off, he would have panicked, or something, and I would have smelled it.”   
“That doesn’t make it your guy, though.”   
“He died in his bed, feeling nothing. It makes it a  _ bit  _ my guy.”   
“I’m asking this as your friend, Shane. How can you honestly prove that he wasn’t feeling anything? All we have to go on is your word.”   
“What? I’m a known empath -”   
“You’re a known demon, dude. I’m not trying to be a dick about this. I’m just saying, to a jury, when your most crucial piece of evidence pinning your guy to the case is the fact that the victims don’t feel emotions, how can you prove that in a way that isn’t just  _ I can taste the air. _ They’re not going to believe you, otherwise. Sorry.”   
“Are you asking if I’m lying?”   
“I’m saying, do your fucking  _ job,  _ dude. The only reason some of these bodies are even connected is because you’re insisting they are. Be a cop. Prove they’re connected.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow/talk to me about this fic on tumblr @100layercrepe!


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